


Not Broken, Just Bent.

by howellshobbithair



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Violinist!Phil, ballerina!dan, ballerina!dan howell, dan finally has a dog, violinist!phil lester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7395652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howellshobbithair/pseuds/howellshobbithair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens so fast, their first meeting.<br/>The ballerina who can no longer dance, the violinist who's lost his sound.<br/>-<br/>[in which dan is a ballerina, phil plays violin. i'm crap at summaries, so please, bear with me. i promise my actual writing is much better than this]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Broken, Just Bent.

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to all the people i forced to read this before i posted it anywhere!! <3  
> [words: 1670]

He looks like an angel, Phil thinks. The boy’s hair is slightly curled, he’s dressed in black tights and a tee shirt, and the lights from the overhead street lamps fall perfectly over him, highlight every perfect imperfection in his form. It’s late, and Phil can’t help but wonder why this boy is here, in the quiet park in the center of town. Especially, though, he can’t help but wonder  _ who _ he is, the mysterious boy, sat unmoving on an old, wooden bench.

  


There’s a small speaker, a phone hooked to it, and light, airy music floods through the cracks of the silence. As he comes closer, Phil notices the slight glow of moonlight bouncing off of him, the boy’s face-undoubtedly gorgeous, Phil knows, despite not having seen it-is hidden behind two, rather large hands. He sits beside the boy, careful not to kick the speaker, and sets his violin down beside the bench.

  


“Hello,” Phil says softly. 

  


The brunette looks up from his hands, and the older of the two bites down on his lip. His face, dotted with constellations of freckles, is emotionless, though his amber-like eyes say all. He’s good at hiding his pain, no doubt, but Phil’s even better at reading people.  

  


Dan, Phil learns his name is due to it scribbled carelessly in silver marker on his speaker, stays rather quiet, just staring at the boy with bright blue eyes and jet black hair. He bites softly on his lip, pink and chapped, then finally speaks.

  


“Hello.” 

  


Phil’s heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice. Soft and shy, it’s like something out of a dream of his, and it takes everything in him to not kiss Dan then and there. After all, he doesn’t even know anything about him. For all Phil knows, the strange boy is a murderer, with the blood of thousands on his hands. 

  


Unlikely, and untrue-hopefully-yet still possible.

  


“I’m Phil.” 

  


Dan nods, but doesn’t say anything. He tries to appear uninterested in the conversation, but really, he’s just shocked. He doesn’t talk to people much, and now, a stranger, who  _ is _ rather gorgeous, comes around and sparks up a conversation. Phil, however, yet again can see through the act, notices the excited glimmer above the pain in those deep, brown eyes. He, however, being the decent person he is, figures Dan has reasons for hiding, and doesn’t let him know that he knows.

  


They sit in comfortable silence, as if they’ve been friends for years, and Phil leans down to grab his violin. “Would you like to hear a song?” he asks, one hand resting on the zipper.

  


“Huh? Oh, sure,” Dan finally smiles, and Phil knows it’s real, genuine. He opens the case and pulls out the instrument, plucking each string to make sure it’s tuned, then grabs his bow. 

  


Dan pauses his music as Phil gets ready to play, his fingers moving over the fretboard, the bow pressed to the metal strings. Slowly, he begins to play, his features twisting into a look of concentration, lip pulled between his teeth. He glances up, only for a second, to see Dan; awe clear on his face, a light smile that he does nothing to hide playing at his lips. The light shines perfectly on him yet again, the excited glimmer in his eyes causes Phil’s heart to stutter and his stomach to flip, and he completely messes up the next measure.

  


“I, uh,” he blushes awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, saw a bird or something.” 

  


Dan laughs lightly, shakes his head as he brushes a soft curl from his eyes. “It’s alright,” he says, “I enjoyed it anyway. You’re very good.”

  


“Thank you,” Phil beams proudly. He’s not afraid to let the way he feels show, unlike Dan, who prefers to be more reserved. 

  


“You’re welcome.” 

  


They fall into another silence, and it’s not awkward. Yet again, it’s comfortable, and this time, Dan’s the one to break it. Phil’s got his violin set in his lap, resting against his chest, and a small smile on his face as Dan stands. He’s tall, probably around Phil’s height, and built rather similarly. His legs are toned nicely, and if not for his terrible posture, it would’ve been blatantly obvious that he’s a dancer. 

  


Dan leans down to start his music again, starting his song from the beginning, and slowly moving to the beat, performing the routine he’s practiced over and over. He stays focused, lost in the music and the movement of his body, and doesn’t notice that Phil, too, is awestruck. Once he finishes his routine, he lets the music continue to play as he sits back down, his cheeks flushed a light pink. Phil puts his violin away, then looks to Dan. “That was wonderful.”

  


Dan shook his head a little, mumbling, “It was nothing, really. Everyone else is much better than me.”

  


That was a lie, in a way. Dan had won awards for his dancing, he was often the favorite student, and there were many who looked up to him. He, however, never thought much of himself, only that his dancing is average, unimpressive. He shrugs and looks off into the distance, then back at Phil.

  


Yet again, silence falls over the two, the only sound Dan’s music. After a little, he checks the time and frowns. It’s almost two in the morning, and despite not being tired, he doesn’t really feel like sitting here anymore. It’s not Phil, it’s just that it’s getting rather cold, and his thin ballet uniform isn’t doing much for him, and the park bench is uncomfortable and old. 

  


“I’m tired,” Dan says awkwardly, not really sure how to end the conversation. 

  


Phil, who had been distracted by his thoughts, hardly noticed. He just nodded, stood up as well. He was exhausted, and probably a bit more than grateful that Dan had brought it up first. “Me too,” he yawned.

  


“So, goodnight, then?” Dan asks as he packs his speaker and pockets his phone. 

  


“Goodnight,” Phil smiles and lifts his violin case, then the two part ways.

  


Phil can’t sleep that night. He doesn’t know why, but there’s something eating away at the back of his mind, something he wished he’d done. After a while of tossing and turning, he finally realized what it was. He’d forgotten to ask Dan for any information whatsoever, knowing only his name and that he likes to dance. Finally, he gets to sleep, his dreams filled with the brown haired, brown eyed ballerina called Dan.

  


A year or so later, Dan’s almost completely forgotten about the blue-eyed stranger he met that night in the park. Phil has faded into but a memory, constantly teasing at the back of his mind, as he tries not to think of him anymore. 

  


He’s sat on his couch, one foot on the ground and his other tucked under his thigh as he watches an awards ceremony on the TV, his dog curled up against his leg. He recognizes so many of the names being called, and each one shoots another pang of  _ something _ through his chest.  _ That should be me _ , he thinks bitterly, glancing down at the foot resting on the floor. A lot has happened in this past year for Dan, and basically, he doesn’t dance anymore. He can't.

  


The memory of the night still stings like a fresh wound, the reminder of how his life could never possibly be the the same. The stupid man who’d drank too much, dumb enough to get behind the wheel. Dan, dumb enough to be driving so late at night, when the possibility of people such as that man was great. 

  


Dan could complain all he wants, but that will never change the fact that it happened. That the accident happened and his left leg could no longer move properly, that he now has a permanent limp. That his dancing career is now over. 

  


Living in the past, as he did for several months after the accident, he has learned does nothing, and eventually, Dan moved on. He didn’t stray far from dancing, as he now instructs a class at the school he once attended. It’s difficult to teach without being able to demonstrate himself, but he manages, and the eight-to-ten year olds he teaches all love him so. The smiles he gets when the children finally master the move they couldn’t seem to get, the proud words from parents. It’s all almost enough to let him forget that he’ll never get to dance again. 

  


He’s pulled from his thoughts as he hears his own name mentioned.

  


“Dan Howell,” the woman on the screen says. She’s vaguely familiar, probably someone Dan used to take class with. “If not for him, I wouldn’t be receiving this award. I probably wouldn’t be dancing anymore.” 

  


Dan remembers her now, her speech going on about how he inspired her to keep going, how he helped her when she needed it, how he was one of the nicest kids she’s met. He finally decides to shut off the TV, and limps up to his bedroom for a nap.

  


“Come on, Haru,” he says to the dog, who hops up and eagerly follows him upstairs. 

  


Phil, meanwhile, has been watching the same program. His hand is curled around a mug of coffee, which he almost drops as he hears the name.  _ Dan Howell _ . Sure, it’s possible (and more likely) that the girl is talking about another Dan, but Phil doesn’t want to believe it. He leans forward a bit, focused on her every word. Hearing the name sparks a bit of confusion, where is Dan? His dancing that night had been more than phenomenal, and Phil assumed that wasn’t even his best. Maybe the other had given up on the sport, Phil decides sadly, leaning back against the couch again. He sighs, then changes the channel. 

  
It’s no use obsessing over a boy he met in the middle of the night, over a year ago. 


End file.
